


i hope you remember me

by babybirdblues



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: E is a brat, Gen, R being a cutie and taking care of everyone, R still has hope and believes here, ahaha, but he's an adorable one, seriously, this makes me sadder, which wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:57:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybirdblues/pseuds/babybirdblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wind bites at his face as R hurries through the streets.  The sun sets earlier, causing the chill to take on a harsher edge.  He’s just about to turn onto his street when something pale flashes in his peripheral vision.  Normally he wouldn’t stop.  (This isn’t completely true.)  Normally he’d keep going - especially on cold nights like this - but the splash of tint is quickly accompanied by a short shriek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i hope you remember me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morcai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morcai/gifts).



> This is the first of a two or three part set.

Winter’s a shitty time to be out on the streets.  Luckily for Grantaire he’s managed to get himself an apartment - just in time too.  He knows that he could go to student housing, knows that he could find a roommate.  But he doesn’t want them to ask about family.  Doesn’t want to have to explain why he has two jobs while still going to school.  Not to mention why his back is a mess of bruises - even now, a month after leaving that shitty place he used to call home.  His friends are great and all.  But they wouldn’t understand.

Etienne was nice enough to let him crash at his house.  But there’s only so far his uncle’s willing to go for his sister’s kid.  (His sister who hasn’t talked to her family in ten years because the deadbeat of a man who calls himself a father won’t let her.)  Grantaire could probably go to his grandparents’ (on his mom’s side, he’s pretty sure his paternal grandparents are dead).  But that would mean tight rules and money thrown around and expectations.  He’s going to school for the Arts, not to be some doctor or lawyer like they’d want him to be.

So, as soon as R could he found himself a shitty apartment.  It’s not the greatest, he has to admit, but it’s all his.  Even the little radiator that makes weird possessed noises in the middle of the night.  The best part is: he can go _home_.  He doesn’t dread going home.  Doesn’t feel like he’s intruding.

It’s sort of the best feeling in the world right now.

The wind bites at his face as R hurries through the streets.  The sun sets earlier, causing the chill to take on a harsher edge.  He’s just about to turn onto his street when something pale flashes in his peripheral vision.  Normally he wouldn’t stop.  (This isn’t completely true.)  Normally he’d keep going - especially on cold nights like this - but the splash of tint is quickly accompanied by a short shriek.

Sighing Grantaire turns.  He can’t quite stop himself from the short laugh that escapes him at the sight of the child sprawled out on the ground behind him.  The garbage cans he - she, they? - was obviously climbing on luckily didn’t land on the poor kid. 

Carefully - and cautiously - R crouches next to the kid.  “Hey,” he doesn’t get a response aside from the small body in front of him curling into itself.  “Hey, come on kid.  The ground is freezing, not to mention snow covered.  That jacket doesn’t look like it’s heavy enough to be keeping you warm.”

Oh.  Grantaire wasn’t aware kids could glare like that.  He was aware some of them were creepy.  But glaring was an ability he wasn’t aware they had.

"My name is not _kid_.”

The golden-haired munchkin in front of R struggles to his feet.  Kid’s obviously in some sort of pain - if the way he’s holding his hand at an awkward angle is any indication.  Grantaire really hopes his parents have insurance.  “Uhhuh.  Well, since I don’t know your name, _kid_ , I’m going to call you whatever I can.  Believe me, kid is the least offensive.”

It’s a trade-off.  Grantaire’s good at those.  Mostly from all the younger kids he looked after at the community centre just down the street from his mom’s house.  The kid tells him his name and Grantaire stops calling him kid, which he really seems to dislike.  Win, win situation.  Eventually it seems like the kid seems to decide it’s worth it, for he gets a muttered response.

"Enjolras."

Grantaire grins, mouth stretching wide in triumph.  “Sorry couldn’t hear you.”  And really, kids shouldn’t be able to scowl like that. 

But he repeats himself louder, arms crossed in front of his chest.  “My name.  It’s _Enjolras_.”

"Okay then Enjolras," Grantaire pulls himself up, shivering and ignoring the way his back cracks.  "What are you doing out here alone, anyways?"

With just one sentence R can see the progress he made shatter.  He could kick himself if it wouldn’t freak out Enjolras.  Because it probably would.  For all the facts that he’s out on the street with no one in sight to take care of him, in a coat that’s definitely not heavy enough to be keeping him warm: R doesn’t want to scare the kid.  Sighing, he crouches down again.  “Look-“

"I’m not going home."

What.

Enjolars is cradling his hand to his chest, eyes burning fiercely and R doesn’t know what to say.  Doesn’t know what he was going to say.  Not to mention that it’s started snowing in the time that he’s been here.  With this kid; who’s sitting on the already snow-covered ground and probably freezing to death.

"Okay.  Why don’t you want to go home?"

"Because I don’t.  Why aren’t _you_ at home right now?” Enjolras scrunches up his nose, staring up at Grantaire and then before R gets a chance to answer he keeps talking.  “And you haven’t given me your name either, you know.  I don’t even know you.  Why-” and suddenly Enjolras cuts himself off, looking angry.

That’s fair.  But if R was going to do anything to Enjolras he would have done something to him when he was face down on the pavement and defenceless.  He debates telling the kid that but doesn’t.  It could make him run.

"You’re right," it comes out extremely dry.  Grantaire probably should have kept that in check.  But Enjolras doesn’t seem to mind.  He just looks at him expectantly.  It makes him roll his eyes before holding out a hand.  "Grantaire is my name, mon ami.  You can call me that or R, whichever.  Now, how about we get off the ground, okay?"

"I suppose."

Enjolras takes his hand.  He’s heavier than Grantaire expected, being so small.  Then again, Grantaire is pretty much all muscle himself from his dance lessons.  He shouldn’t be surprised, like the kid pointed out, R doesn’t know him.  In fact, he doesn’t really want to know him: he just wants to get him home safe.  Because the streets of Paris are no place for a kid.  Especially at night - not to mention it’s Winter and fucking freezing. 

If Grantaire’s cold, Enjolras must be close to dead.  “Here brat.”  R holds his scarf out to the kid.  When he doesn’t take it Grantaire wiggles it a bit in front of his nose.  “Just take the scarf will you?  I’m cold and wearing more layers than you are.  I feel myself dying of hypothermia just watching you.”

The offended look on Enjolras’ face is greatly amusing.  He told him he’d stop calling him kid, never that he wouldn’t think of other things to call him.  Also, he might be teasing him a bit about his inability to dress himself properly for the weather conditions.  Eventually Enjolras takes it.  His pride doesn’t seem to be greater than his desire to be warm.  Now if only that would work to get him home.

"So, no chance you want to phone home, right?"

The glare he receives, which is really a pout this time, is predictable.  But R had to try.  Because he can’t leave this kid here.  He can’t let someone else come across him.  Chances are the next person isn’t going to be Grantaire - chances are it’s going to be someone who’s worse and who’s going to -

Taking a deep breath R stills the panic in his chest.  “You’re what, eight?  I think that’s a little young-“

"I’m _eleven_ , thank you!” Enjolras puffs up, mouth appearing from where it was tucked behind R’s scarf.  It makes the apparent scolding all the louder.

"Uh huh.  Well mister "I’m _eleven_ , thank you.” you need to tell me where you live,” R’s eyebrow raises in a way that always got the kids at the centre to calm down.  It’s not exactly scolding, but it’s close enough.  “I know you don’t want to but I can’t leave you here.”

"You can."

He really can’t.  R would explain that to Enjolras but seeing how the kid is currently walking away, well, R can’t be blamed for catching up with him and picking the kid right up off the ground.  “Woah, hold up there kid.  It’s either you let me take you home or I’m taking you to the closest police station.  Because you cannot stay on the street.”  Bad things happen to kids like him on the street.

Enjolras starts to wiggle fiercely.  He’s obviously objecting to Grantaire’s options.  “I’m going to scream if you take me there!  I’m going to scream and tell them you were kidnapping me, trying to get a reward for being a good citizen!”

R nearly drops him.  He can’t believe this kid.  But if he really does start to scream, who knows who’ll come and ‘help’ him.  Sighing - Grantaire hasn’t sighed this much in a month - R sets him down.  He keeps a firm hold of Enjolras’ uninjured arm though.  “Okay.  Look.  You obviously don’t understand how bad the streets of Paris are at night, Enjolras.”  The use of his name makes the kid look up.  Good.  Because Grantaire is serious here.  He’s at his last option that won’t scar or scare the kid for life.  “I wouldn’t normally do this.  But you’re not giving me much of a choice.  So, look, if I promise to not take you to the police or try to get you to go home, _or_ do any bad touch will you come home with me?  The streets are no place for a kid.”

It takes just shy of a second too long for Enjolras to decide to come home with him.  If he hadn’t said yes, R isn’t sure what he would have done.  (Probably called the cops as he sat on the poor kid, regardless if it would have gotten him arrested or not.)  But he did decide it.  Now R has some time to convince him to go home or to figure out why he doesn’t _want_ to go home.  Since Enjolras’ condition for coming home with him was ‘as long as you don’t tell my parents’.  That’s kind of a bit telling.  Of what exactly - abuse, neglect, other things - Grantaire doesn’t know.  Maybe the kid just overreacted.  Hell R’s known some kids who’ve done that.  But R’s also known some kids who haven’t. 

(He has his own bruises to prove it.)

—-

When R gets home - after a five minute walk - with Enjolras the first thing he does is make the kid shower.  He’s ice cold and there’s no way that he’s letting him stay that way.  Ignoring the look Enjolras gives him he ushers him into the tiny bathroom with a clean towel and some clean clothes.  They’ll be too big - a lot too big - but they’ll do.

Second thing is getting some food on.  There’s no telling how long Enjolras was roaming the streets.  (Hopefully it was only a few hours.)  It’s lucky Grantaire was the first one to find him.  But no, R promised himself not to think about that on the walk home.  He’s got the kid to safety, even if it’s his care, which is actually pretty good, all things considered. 

That’s the important part.

The only real option is some form of instant pasta.  It won’t be phenomenal (Grantaire’s not that great of a cook) but it won’t poison them.  Grantaire can only do so much with his pay checks: five star cuisine is not on that list.  He’s just adding the pasta to the water when Enjolras speaks up from behind him.

"You don’t have to make food."

R actually leaves the floor he jumps so badly.  “ _Merde_.  Don’t do that.  Seriously, Enjolras.  I could have been holding a knife or something.”

"You weren’t," and fuck if the kid doesn’t sound absolutely calm and collected.  Grantaire doesn’t feel the least bit guilty for swearing in front of him.  "I saw."

Grantaire shoots him a Look.  One that works on his sister.  It doesn’t actually appear to work on this kid.  Then again, nothing appears to work on this kid.  “Fine.  Okay.  You saw I wasn’t and decided it was fun to scare me.  What’s up, munchkin?  Shower went okay; you’re all changed.  You must be hungry after being cold.  Why don’t you want me to make food?”

Enjolras makes a face at being called munchkin but does nothing except shrug.

Sighing - again - R kneels on the ground in front of him.  “Look, I know that you don’t trust me.  I know that I’m just a stranger who decided to get you off the street and you probably are wondering why.  I did it because the streets aren’t a place for a kid.  You deserve better and I wasn’t going to leave you there for someone to hurt you, okay?  I’m not going to hurt you.  I promise I won’t send you home if you don’t want to go and I won’t call the cops.  Just as long as you promise you’ll stay here, safe and off the streets as long as you refuse to go to the proper people for help.  I’m not much but I’ll do what I can.”

Enjolras doesn’t meet his eyes, blond hair falling down and obscuring his own.  Grantaire doesn’t think he’ll get an answer, doesn’t expect him to give one for the next few days.  But just as he’s about to get up and go back to the food he’s stopped by Enjolras’ hand on his arm.  “They’re not even home.  My parents.  They’re not home and the nanny they got for me uses ‘corporal punishment’.  It’s not right, the books I read say so and I’m better off not there.”

He might be. 

He’s not better off on the streets, though.  But Grantaire can’t tell him that.  Not tonight when Enjolras has obviously just trusted him enough to tell him.  (Hopefully it was the truth.  Some kids do lie, but Enjolras has been brutally honest up to this point, so.)  So, Grantaire nods.  “Okay.  Okay Enjolras.”  He’ll try to get Enjolras to remember if he has a contact number for his parents.  See if he can contact them wherever they are.  Surely they’ll come home if he tells them what’s happening?  Because he’s not sure if he can wait until they get home.

"The food’s gonna be a bit.  Let me look at your wrist before it is ready."

It’s sort of nice how amenable Enjolras is.  (Probably the most compliant he has been all night, which is doing wonders for R’s blood pressure.)  Within minutes R has managed to get his wrist looked at - probably only a sprain - and wrapped.  He finds himself thankful of all the times he’s looked after his own injuries.  Because it means he doesn’t have to try to convince the kid to go to a clinic.  That would be hell and trying to explain how he came upon the kid?  Yeah, no thanks.

Grantaire’s just about to put dinner on the table when a soft squeak interrupts him.  Looking down he smiles at Liberté.  “There you are.  I was wondering where you’d gotten to, you little monster.”  Leaning down he picks up his calico, careful to keep her away from the table.  She tends to think she’s allowed on the tables and counters.  It’s a wrong thought, though.  Enjolras lights up across from Grantaire, eyes glued to Liberté as she kneads her paws into R’s shirt.  “You can have Liberté after dinner, brat.  Eat first.  I’m just going to fill her food and then I’ll come join you, okay?”

Enjolras nods, digging into his dinner with enthusiasm.  It’s amazing how the action of getting Liberté made him want to eat when before he was going to pick at his food.  Then again, she’s a cute little monster of a kitten. 

(He doesn’t miss the irony that Liberté was a stray he took in, and now he has a new one that adores her. 

Except Enjolras is a stray he can’t keep.)


End file.
